Kanagawa Jihen
by rx8
Summary: How long can they sustain their relationship? Being married to a chief police inspector who's hellbent and busy finding a killer on the loose...Things are slightly falling apart for them and the murders are getting more bothering. How long will this last?
1. Chapter 1

**Yoohoo:** Uhh I guess I want to know just how many people still read here in this section. So yeah. Anyway about the story... I have no idea how I came up with it, and right now I don't know how to end it properly. But I already have an idea. : ) This has been with me for YEARS now haha.Oh and this has a twist in it! which you'll know if I remember that I posted this fic here. I'm really busy. D: Oh well. I'm sorry if it's not written well. If you'd like to re-write it that'd be great. : ) 'Cause writing isn't really my heart. MY HEART IS IN FOOOOD. : 3 So let's go. :D AND HEY, as obvious as it is I don't own the characters okay[/disclaimer

**VOLUME 1**

**April 13, 2006**

**ACT 1:**** Start of the Night**

There was something wrong about that night.

Her eyes shot open, her mind fully awake. She didn't feel sleepy or lazy, she just didn't. There was something knocking on her head, and she couldn't shut it up. She groans. Her back was wet with sweat and the room temperature was like hell. What time was it? She lifts her head from her pillow and sighs at the sight of 4am, two hours before she usually wakes. She thought it was peculiar, waking up this early-- she wonders what this scenario would get her into this time.

And the knocking continues. And it keeps on knocking until she felt the bed was a little lighter than it should be. And from that, a domino effect. One after the other she realizes lots of strange events. It starts.

She slowly peers at his side of the bed. Only to find it empty, bringing truth to her assumption. This made her worry. Has he not come home yet? And she presses herself to check the house for any signs of him. What could he be doing? Staying up this late...but It's not safe out there anymore either, if ever he went out. And she knows that he's well aware of that. Vanishings and murders happening in their prefecture. It was horrible. And they've been going on for days now, the police haven't found much leads on the case and as a result the body count sky rockets. They knew for one thing that there was only one killer, because all the victims have been killed the same way. A total count of thirteen clears that. She remembers how hard he has worked to find the serial killer. Coming home with a serious look on his face that matched with a hand frustratingly rubbing his temples. "The perfect crime." He stated. And he'd walk straight to his study and lock himself there. They haven't been talking much since the first murder emerged too, he was way too busy solving things, giving a logical approximate answer to a dumbfounding question. She didn't know the details, but from what the news said, "-the killer is a genius."

She placed a hand on the cold knob of the heavy mahogany door. Behind it is his study, and she expects to see him there... Slumped on his desk, messing a stack of paperwork up. Drooling on his notebooks as he comfortably slept over them. Yeah, thats what she wants to see. A faint smile forms on her face as she twists the knob to find it open, she first hesitates but she pushes the door anyway. Only to reveal a dark room. She searched for the light switch on the wall but she found none. Her heart beats faster, and cold sweat snakes down her spine. Anything could just jump out of the dark and grab her, she didn't like staring into dark supposedly 'empty' rooms so she made an effort to try and make out his features from the ample light that the hallway gave. None. She quietly closes the door.

He's not here. Maybe something came up that he had to stay longer at the station. Or something more like a tragedy. No, she doesn't want to think of it. But suddenly before retreating to the bedroom, she hears a steady hiss of running water. The bathroom? No. Somewhere downstairs...

"Souichiro?" He flinches and drops something on the sink, he was washing something. He turned the faucet off and picked up the object--placing it inside his overcoat. He turns to her, "Yeah?" He looked tired. Something wasn't right here. "Are you-" , "I'm fine." He told her curtly. Almost coldly... "Uhh," He stammered trying to lighten the mood. He knows that he frightened her. "Sorry. Um, Good Morning." He smiled, "You wake up early theses days, huh?" That was awkward. "Ye-ah." She answered, a little uneasy as well. "I do." She hated lying but this was very peculiar. "Cool." Silence follows. And they stare at each other. "You going to make breakfast... Or should I do it?" , Is he covering himself up here by pretending that he woke up early? "Maybe, you could do it." she answered, rubbing her arms trying to warm herself from the eerily cold morning temperature. It's 5am already and she hadn't noticed the early morning light that seeped through the windows. She shouldn't have stayed up late yesterday, it looks to have a great effect on her. She sighs.

"What was that thing you dropped earlier?"

His muscles grew tense, "Nothing." He answered, as he turned back facing the sink. She walked closer, and he didn't move an inch. He was nervous, but from what she sees is only the back of the man she has been married to four years ago. She leaned on his back and stared at the ceiling. "I think you should go back to sleep." He said as his body relaxed. She smiled and rubbed circles into her stomach, "When are you going to settle down and at least have a normal conversation with me?" , "Just you and me without the whole vanishings and murders issue?" She laughed and he felt her nod. "Well..." He placed his hands on the rim of the sink. "I just dont know, yet."

**ACT 2:**** Insecurities**

He left a few minutes after their short talk. He looked like he hadn't slept for days, and something about that object he dropped into the sink that makes her stomach twirl into a knot for some odd reason. What could it be and why was he hiding it? And other than that they didn't eat breakfast together. Which weighed more important in her mind.

She turns the TV on and she switches it to the news. Pressing the positive button on the volume, she crashes into the couch which embraced her small form. Nothing is better than a lazy Sunday morning.

Unless of course if it was a Sunday morning that she could share with him. But it seemed a little impossible now that he's buried under burdensome issues. Maybe he could just ditch them, and dump all his responsibilities on his subordinates and come home—spending time with her more. She giggles to herself. Ah but fantasies can only go so far, she wonders if by some crazy miracle he does what she had thought, Oh! That would have made her day! "Yet another bod y found dead on-" Her mood suddenly meets a brick wall. BANG! She crumbles into small little pieces. Great, just what she needed.

But this case was different from the other cases she'd catch on TV. Unsurprisingly it was the same killer again, signature throat slit. Loss of blood, cover the head with a black plastic bag routine. Though it seemed more brutal and bloodier. She winces away when the tv posted shots of the dead body. And the forensics team figured out that the body was killed about 4am.

Oh look he's on TV explaining.

He looks so handsome, but hey when did he have the time to shower? His hair looked wet and from the looks of it his uniform looked like it was worn in a second. He looked a bit messy. She sits up on the couch and places her knees infront of her, embracing them. She looked at the lower right portion of the screen, it was a live report, and as she continues watching she suddenly realizes how familiar the background was...

"-And in the living room we've seen signs of struggle, we checked every entry points of the house and we found no signs of breaking in at all."

"So what are you saying here?"

"Well, since all the windows and doors are locked from the inside. The victim probably knows the killer and let him in willingly, of course oblivious to what he was going to do."

Ah that was new. That made her a bit paranoid, it could be anybody in the neighborhood. She leaves the couch, the tv left running. "So if I were anybody in this prefecture-" She stands by the windows, placing a finger on the blinds making an opening for her to see. "I'd be a more attentive and alert.-" She stares at the people gathered, "Because you'll never know you might be next." The home right in front of theirs... the killer had struck.

**[/end**

I personally liked how I ended act 2. : D I didn't know I could do that. O-o So... Whats with the object he hid in his overcoat? Why was he nervous? And why did I write that for you to read? Err... I don't know either. But if I'd give you an answer... "It's part of a really big master PLAAAN!!"


	2. Chapter 2

I'm sorry this took REALLY REALLY LONG. LIKE MAYBE A YEAR LONG, TWO YEARS. **HAHAHAHA.** I'm continuing this don't worry. Eventhough nobody's reading. It's just a favor I'm doing for myself whilst I'm an out of school youth. Haha. The original of this chapter however has been deleted in the past, so I renewed it to this. I can't remember what I wrote initially for the 2nd chapter anyway. Hope you like it, bye! Before anything else however, I'm sorry if it's written crappy. : ) My heart is in music, not story writing. xD

**_____**

**Volume 2**

**April 27, 2006**

**ACT 3: ****Forgetting**

Body count skyrockets from an already existing 13, to 9 more new dead innocent civilians killed. So a total of 22 now... _That's never good_, this has never happened before. And we're not sure if we can end his hotstreak. 'Can't find a pattern in his killings, the destinations at which they were murdered; all far apart from each other. There's nothing linking any of the victims together at all either. It's like he's killing them at random, this is too ruthless. Some are killed in houses, some found near garbage disposals, some on streets... All similar looking corpses, throat-slit, stabbed here and there, then cover the head with a black bag routine-- it's sick. Seeing 22 people on the examiner's table, seeing 22 people's families all mourning over their loss-- that's a little too many, but out of the abundance of good morality in me, it's not numbing. And out of the abundance of responsibility in me, I have to see to it that I get this guy, punch him in the face and then take him in.

9 more in a span of two weeks. In one day there are two murders at different locations, victims died out of desanguination. Major loss of blood. Basically, they were left to die. Eventually they came to their end at exactly 4pm. They were found later around midnight the same day. He orchestrates things like that! Who would put that much effort into just getting rid of these people who are great fathers or mothers, or sons and daughters? How I'm seeing this, he treats it more than just murder plainly. It's an artform. It has to be, one gains a deeper understanding and practice of something when viewed as art.

This is never good. And what do we find when our boys are called in? None, zilch leads and we're always just cleaning up after his mess. Like an untraceable wind, comes and goes without anybody knowing which direction it flies to escape. I'm sick of this, I'm frustrated, I've never felt this before. I'm helpless but I want to help, but what care help can I actually give whilst I'm in a stalemate such as this... I might as well sit in waylay at a dark alley. Make myself bait. _God..._

There's a fine line between practical and ridiculous, _and I'm getting ridiculous._

Leaning back into the most comfortable leather chair he's ever sat on, he sighs deeply. The detective is exhausted. The blinds on his small office windows are closed and the humming of computers and fingers tapping on keyboard is audible from the outside cubicles. The centralized airconditioning is freezing him. The clock is without restraint, ticking the hour to it's death. It's already midnight. He stares blankly at his desk made out of Hawaiian Koa. The papers scattered, the pen on the edge in a brink of falling to the floor, the almost empty cigarrette box leaned against a populated Marlboro ashtray. Funny, he's a Black Bat and Dunhill guy.

It's already midnight. Silence, silence and more silence. His head full of thoughts and theories and arranging schedules on patrols for tomorrow, passing by the people on the third floor for fingerprint processing on any of the vic's clothes that aren't their own... Any lead will do, just as there's a lead. Even if it's a false one, going to a dead end at least we're on the move and we're not stagnantly rotting our bottoms in this office. That's the last thing we want the people to observe about us: That we're not doing anything and that we're running out of ideas. Checkpoints wont do because we don't have anything to recognize the guy, but what we had thought to do are patrols and frisk anybody doing anything suspiscious... A curfew should be fine too, but it's not like anybody's that obedient nowadays. We'll probably find about 20 teenagers out there beyond curfew time, and make a fuss and create some chaotic confusion. Anybody caught beyond curfew would be, as instructed, taken into the station and although all persons are presumed innocent until convicted, our boys will be taught to assume they're all killers, and treat them like shit. The system's just messed up that way. I heard it's in effect now, started 10:30pm.

'Might catch him from there but it's a tough one, we don't know a thing about him. We don't know what he looks like. He's a shadow, he's a ghost, he's an evil enigma in the dark waiting for an opportunity to kill. A stalemate from all sides possible, no kind of craftiness can ever get you a real escape.

It's a minute pass midnight.

"A minute pass midnight..." He repeats. He stops to think. Face blank. The office suddenly turns dead silent.

He shakes his head and grimaces, "Aw shit!" leaving his comfortable position, he stands to attend to his overcoat hung by the door. "Damn it, damn it." He mutters as he frisks his black over wear, ah there he found it. "7 missed calls" It displayed happily. He sighs heavily at the mobile's inability to be sympathetic, **but moreover how can he forget her.** He speed dials, presses 1 and holds until he could hear a dial tone. Nervously, he presses his cell against his left ear, a foot tapping to compliment the churning in his stomach. He had told her he'd be home by 9 when she asked this morning, and with the house parallel their's had been visited by a demon, even when he promised her the area's on a tight thumb by the Metro Police... His being at home would be the best security she'll have. He knows this and dreads he let himself get too in over his head thinking. He's slowly forgetting what's important. _"Please be okay, please be okay..."_ His eyes tightly shut, he just remembered that he had instructed her to call in case of emergency. The worst kind of emergency. "Shit. Damn it. Goddamn it! How could I forget to set this goddamn phone on general--oh god, oh god baby please be okay." Cursing the meeting well over 4 hours ago, he takes his overcoat and swings it over his shoulder, takes his dark green backpack he preffered over the black rectangular bag they professionally have you use as detective, and snatches his Nissan's car keys hanging from the coat rack. He strides out of his office in a hastily serious manner. "Baby please be okay, please be okay." and in one fluid manner blows through the cubicles and into the elevator--That_ is_ until, "Sir hold up!" Surprised, he had pressed the cell against his ear to hard too have cancelled the call, "Shit!" he dials again. Looking at his colleague he roars, "What is it! Make it fast!" All this while keeping a thumb pressed on the open button elevator control panel.

"Well--well sir, I just got a call from the chief and he asked for you, there's something happ--" the colleague trails off noticing the serious glare on the detective's face and the stance that seemed so ready to attack. Not a good time. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry this must be a serious time for you, I'll-- I'll got tell him you left!"

He scrambles. The colleague turns his back and runs to his cubicle, attending the waiting call from the Chief. The colleague mouths a couple of words into the receiver, Souichiro couldn't hear. Silently he watches his colleague, and doesn't feel guilt at all. The colleague looks at him one last time before he sits down on his chair to _work some menial work_ he didn't want to take care of. The detective sighs. "What the fuck is up with me." He removes his thumb from the open button and hits close.

**ACT 4:** Crumbling Down Slowly

This wasn't the first time he lost his temper. It's been officially 6 weeks throughout this whole ordeal. Tokyo's getting concerned and so are our neighboring prefectures, but so far? Nothings happening there. Just here, and they wont help. It's this kind of faulty camaraderie that makes Kanagawa want to be an independent city state of some kind. It is clearly out of their jurisdiction, but we're all Japanese right? And right now Kawasaki City is living in a subtle fear. All the other cities are just gossiping about us and none of them want's to touch us. I hope the killer moves throughout Kanagawa. We'll be laughing too by then. Jeez, what the hell am I thinking.

The ringing seemed endless and would disconnect when kept too long. The elevator ride to the basement floor was like torture, his sweat would fill buckets, and the walls seemed to close in. The ever growing silence swells into the only thing he could hear, the painful paranoid kind of stillness... His head aches. His world swirls into distorted figures... And the ringing, the ringing, the ringing--

**"Hello! Souirchiro!"**

Yes! "God! Yukino! Why did you call? Are you alright? I'm so sorry, I'm on my way now I'll be there in 5 minutes!" He's just glad to know she picked up.

"I'm--I'm alright but you've got to check out the block away from us, there's a huge fuss and somebody's got cocktails! It's been going on for about an hour now!" God it sounds something serious from what I can pick-up.

"Mo-Molotovs!? Can you tell me exactly what's happening? I can hear screaming, what are they screaming about?" Come to think of it, that colleague mentioned something happening, but I cut him off... Damn.

"Yes, Molotovs they're trying to restrain this guy who's going to burn the neighborhood down, and the Chief just called looking for you! I think you're needed here! My view's limited and I can't really make out what anybody's saying--I can go out! --"

"No, no! baby, just stay there and don't move! Wait for me okay? You know where I keep my Glock right? Stay inside the bedroom! Okay? It's not safe! I got to go, I'll be there in 5 minutes! I love you, I'm sorry! Bye!"

Rushing towards his black sedan, he drops his stuff to the ground and unlocks the vehicle. He opens the driver's door and throws his things into the passenger seat before dialing numbers into his cell to call. It picks up immediately, "Captain are you at the scene now?" He asked as he starts his sedan to back up and speed away , "Not yet, you better be though it's close to your side of town!" That gruff sounding tough-man voice is the same guy who got him in the kendo club in highschool, Captain of that same club before; Captain of this police force now, "Who's there now? What's the status?" , "A bunch of guys we caught beyond curfew, a guy bullshitting our cops, but I'm on my way anyway we'll see for sure. Catch you there." , "Roger."

Approaching the ramp intersecting the main road, he speeds his way out the basement and into the streets of the city he vowed to protect. And it's falling apart slowly right before his eyes.

**___**

**Well that's never good. Hope you stick around for the next one.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Alright I just re-read the whole thing and I'm like, what the fuck. Why did I publish that? Hahaha! It's alright at least it's getting the story on track. If I were given a chance to write the past chapters better though, I would do so. And I can, really. But not now. I have dozens of practices and gigs. : / I write this around the wee hours of 2am-6am! D: Okay, so does anybody read this still? Hahaha, in act5 I threw in a new character from the series. I made their relationship... Interesting here. So yeah, more issues to be introduced here. And more Arima OOC. Because I like to distort him and make his ugly come out.**

**VOLUME 3**

**APRIL 28, 2006**

**ACT5:**** Round One**

His vehicle speeds down intersection after intersection, around this time nobody really follows what the signs and lights say. The radio is broadcasting Weather Report a band of the late Joe Zawinul, one of his favorite listenings even way back. The conditions would have been perfect, if not for this call he's attending to. He could have just went home with a smile on his face and romance his wife in bed. Something they haven't been doing in months really... His mind wanders.

The succeding street lamps that stretch 50 meters after the last pole seem to engulf him in a hypnotic state of remembering. Remebering anything, everything that happened before this. When he still appeared perfect. When he still appeared composed and calm. When he still had the will to keep himself together and strong.

The dark tint on his windows and the temperature of the car interior doesn't help his positivity right now. His mind wanders to dark places, as a habit he's practiced over the years... It hurts him. Knowing that everytime he does this he is lying to her.

His patience was shortened considerably. 'Felt like he's the only guy in the force who knew how everything went properly. Everybody else is just guessing or waiting for him to take over. The responsibility was already too big for him, but I guess it's his nature to never say no. He never said no. The time he'll do so is when he's killed.

He's figured that this is what happens when you're exceptional in almost every way. Being the well rounded person that you are, you're probably also almost kind enough to do everybody's work—Everybody's LIFE. He's getting sick, but he keeps the heat to himself. Anyway things like this, aren't even in his work radius. He's just responding for the safety of his wife and to suck up a bit more to the chief. It's just an opportunity to get his act together again, he's getting infamous for his irritability and other more trivial matters. Getting just a little desperate...

Just a kilometer away, he turns right for a short cut that'll enable him to come up right behind the heat. The exact directions were messaged a minute after his call to the Captain, he just wants to appear subtly into the hell hole. Low profile.

He can hear the 3/4 swing playing in his radio soften to the ever growing shouts and screams of the riot thats making it's presence felt every meter he accelerates closer. He's here and he sees the mess. This isn't going to be easy, and hopefully nobody makes the twisted judgment to use excessive force even though the big riot guys with their shields and batons are keeping the crowd compact and easy to handle. He kills the engine and exits his vehicle. The trash talk and the hostility saturates the midnight riot. Closing in on the patrol car stationed at the tail of the notoriety, it's two officers hanging around notice his arrival. They approach, "Chief Police Inspector! How are you sir?", "What brings you here?"They both salute. They're so stiff it's ridiculous.

He shouldn't be the sovereign figure over these kinds of events, so he doesn't exactly know why he's here. "Well I live just close to here and I saw this," He lied, "And please just call me detective, I prefer it." He smiles at the two rookies before eyeing the storm brewing before him. Time to get to business, "Alright, so what? 'Exactly got around ali'l short of 30 people? And they're out here to unite in a single cause—What 'cause?"

"They're bullshitting us, Detective. Other than that I don't got a clue, sir. But we got the brain to all this, our boys got to pacify him and he's staying in squad car 3's jail seat." , "The guy with the molotovs is that right?" , unfazed by his information they continue, "Molotovs and a death wish actually, screaming all night about our force being no help and all. We got him to the ground and cuffed him and confiscated his bottles." , The Detective searches for car 3 from the mess, "It's just beside the tactical van that carries our riot guys." He points out. Good job. "Alright I'll go over there, and you keep this end safe... Uh—" He looks for a name patch on their cheasts until he's reminded that they've been obsolete for a long time now. "It's Biggs, sir. Great to finally meetcha'." The other taller cop introduces himself as, "Wedge, don't worry about this end sir! We got it all covered." Everybody in a uniform knows the edge is the most unhappening spot to be stationed in, they're just enjoying. Tapping the earphone sunk into his ear, Wedge blinks at the Detective before it finally connects.

He stopped to think. "Wait a minute guys, you're partners? Wedge and Biggs as in Star Wars? Or Final Fantasy?" , "Star Wars!" They answer ferverently in unison. He let's a short laugh escape, "Right. Of course it's Star Wars." He looks back at the screaming swarm of neighborhood delinquents a moment before he let the obligation of work overcome his senses.

"Right, I gotta get going my wife is going to kill me." He progresses out.

"Whoa, wait you're married?!"

Too much small talk. "Uhh—" He notices the officer's Benelli's resting on the rear car fender, "Hey, get those guns on your hands you'll look more intimidating. And they can snatch your arms, be aware of that." In their short moment of realization, he takes his leave. On his walk to the hotspot the two shoot out a, "Yes sir, detective!" He looks back and affirms them complying, he raises his ring finger, "Yes I'm married! 4 years now!" A curt valediction and he's off.

__

Our Tanks are on the move. These big guys behind thick gear and a layer of thick kevlar, I see the sweat dripping down from their foreheads behind the plexiglass on their helmets. Muscle tension, pushing and shoving, banging their batons on their shileds they are primal. A loud roar is heard, and I see three or four people collapse on the ground, having been pushed by a riot shield. Their friends stand up for their fallen ones, more conflict. Fear is how they operate on, on a thin string they hope they're getting their message sent through fear. Big and intimidating in wears that will never get them harmed by scratches, punches and 9mm pistols. Acting as a barrier between the crowd and the few squad cars that chose to comply to the call, they're waiting for the van to take all these people in. Then it'll start. Human nature. They don't want to go to jail, they don't want to be contained. They'll protest, and things can get messy and out of hand.

The crowd probably grew more than a few squad cars can take the intial count of people in. At least they got the riot squad right. That's a good call, probably the Captain's. He should be here now.

I look around, none of the cars match his. I tread on nevertheless.

Slowly walking beside the open fire of human struggle I thought I'd be okay if I just strolled down nonchalantly. " Hey! Hey you! I see you alot of TV! What have you got left to explain?? More of that lunatic's killings?" I was wrong. "Yeah! And you'd never solve it!" ,"You guys are irresponsible! Just bullies! You guys beat my brother—" A roar of second notions agree. Great so this is not just about our prefectural killer. Strength in number, but they'd never diss an officer on their own. One of our riot guys threaten to rip their throat. And more exchange of unrealistic torture is thrown. "You'll never catch him! You're all just sitting in your seats and jacking off behind your desks!", "What about our friends! Our families!" Two riot officers push the crowd who seems to breathe only to tear me apart. I close my eyes tightly and keep walking.

"Watch it! Watch it!", "Get those assholes subdued!" , "Somebody throw a tear gas!"

Orders here orders there, the crowd is growing restless and it's getting difficult. But my eyes shoot open at the last one. I see car 2's officer load the M73 with a gas round. "No, no no! Hey! Hey you! Not on my watch! Even we'll get smoked!" I shout as I stride hurriedly to his direction, "But sir! We got—", Face to face I see the stupid look on his face clearly, "No! We're on my fucking neighborhood and there are people here who don't deserve to get smoked! You don't even have a gas mask in your dashboard do you!? Who's calling the shots here! Who said that?" They shrug, they're just following anything. I am irritated. I snatch the grenade gun from his grimy paws and chuck it inside their squad car. "Jesus Christ! You assholes—" I get cut off,

"Yeah that's right! Follow your master you worthless dogs!" The crowd. Ever excacerbating everthing. "Assholes! Don't do anything right can you!" Of course, the riot guys get ticked off with this, " You want a piece of us punk!? We're going to beat you black and blue!" , "We can end you right here!" , "Bring it on fucker!" Never mess with a fraternity with the weapons. I know this is going to warp badly if I don't do something... But somehow... I don't want to do anything.

**Noise.** I see everything happen before me in slow motion. The actions that are about to be thrown, the words their mouths are forming to be said. The sweat on their backs, the desperation, courage and fear in their voices. Shadows on the ground displaying the violence of it's progenitor, the cold biting wind doesn't hinder the oil of rage from being lit.

I look everywhere, and I see civillians watching from the comfort of their windows, a couple of blocks away I see a few of them walking out of their houses, wanting to see a bit of this midnight riot. I see kids, I see men and women. I read the fear on their faces. I see civillians, seeing us at our worst. Perhaps, they've been viewing us like this for a long long time now, even before I took up the oath. This was one of my fears... That when the people finally realize, there's nothing we can do for them anymore.

That we're failing them. These people have realized-- this riot, they've realized. That we're all out. That we can't find him. And that we're failing under obedience, perhaps we really are just bullies. I see the corruption in my office, the first day I joined. Something lacked in the image that I've been seeing in the Metropolitan Police, than I had first imagined; than I had been seeing from it's exterior. Internally however, something less noble and irresponsible emerged the first time I was promoted as detective. I saw it all. I chose to ignore drug trafficking for money to place on a debt we owe to the gear we upgraded, I chose to ignore seeing three suitcases of American money slam on the conference table for planting false evidence in a crime scene, I chose to ignore unfair and forbidden questioning methods, I even took part in this. I remember the blood on my hands and the words I altered on the final report. I chose to ignore a hundred acts of police brutality, I chose to ignore millions of irresponsibilities and secret folders hidden in shelves, computers and drawers nobody's ever heard of. I chose to ignore the force. The force and it's real ways.

Deep inside, I felt like only I was right. _Partially._ And only I chose to be true and perfect to correct the image I had been seeing, that others outside have probably also witnessed through the obscurity of today's force. But I guess I'm a bad guy too. At least just a bad guy to even more horrible men dressed in blue uniforms.

I look at the angry strained faces who are focused on me. I look at my fellow officers who couldn't take proper humane initiative. I look at my life that's being thrown in disarray by all this shit. I look at my hands, sweating and plain white... What am I feeling?

"What are we going to do, sir?" He says, I look at him as if I didn't hear him. The shouting and the bickering was getting louder. "Sir! What are we going to do!" Things are progressing so slowly, I see leaves or are they petals? Fall slowly, gently on the ground...

"SIR! THEY'RE BREAKING AWAY FROM OUR BOYS!" The riot squad couldn't wait for an order and openly battered the crowd they've compactly kept in a tight square. I hear a grunt, and I hear the first baton thrown to connect with bone that breaks beneath skin. I hear the shouts and screams, there's blood. "Murderers you're the real murderers!" I avert my attention to this one guy, a teenager I figured. He almost got away, slipping through the busy riot squad locked on their victims, he runs to the tail staggeringly where Biggs and his partner is. Like I said, almost got away.

They notice this, and I sense the fear and hesitation greatly from the two rookies. They'd best remember their training. One of them raises their Benelli to shoot, "Sir! STOP OR I WILL SHOOT!" The teenager keeps running towards them frantically, screaming things I couldn't understand before sinking his hand into his inner jacket pocket, "He's drawing his weapon!" Wedge scrambles and grabs his benelli from the car fender and shoots the man dead on his tracks. The buck meets the teenager's body, he bleeds out on the ground, body twitching. Gunshot echoes.

The dread on his face and the fear on his partner's is something I wouldn't be able to forget.

His lip quivering, he drops his weapon to the floor and slides down to collapse on the ground. Biggs who couldn't shoot was nursing his heavy labored breathing, and lowers his weapon. He finds me and looks at me, he shakes his head before looking away to attend to his partner.

Somebody screams, and I could hear a faint crying somewhere I didn't care to know.

The van arrives shortly and with the captain's black sedan, it felt like Heaven's cavalry arrived. The drivers rush out and halt the beating. The Captain shouts some other things for the pacification of this rage fest. The riot squad stop, standing tall over the crowd they've sent to the ground. Standing tall, most of them are smiling. Are grinning, are laughing and kicking some a protester in the stomach as if beating him wasn't enough. The Captain punches the obnoxious riot members.

I didn't focus enough to comprehend his berating tone. But I can see the veins on his neck strain painfully. I see some of the squad car's officers attending to the rookies at the back while the riot squad are escorting their victims in the black van. They still shout, and they complain and shout infamy and profanity. The saliva on a riot member's plexiglass visor was doubling, a man he's dragging to arrest is profusely shouting at him. He growls, and can do nothing but drag the man.

They're afraid now that the Captain is here.

"HEY COME BACK HERE! DETECTIVE!! LOOK OUT--" Was all I heard before an empty beer bottle met my skull to break into tiny glass pieces. I see it fall on my waxed leather shoes. The blood obscured my right eye's vision, and I look up to meet my attacker in the face. "You never did anything! You never do! You're worthless!" He shouted. I did. I know I did. I see my comrades run to my aid.

I grimace. And then, I am enraged.

"You probably wouldn't do better!" I grab at his collar and throw him to squad car 2's hood, and attacked him repeatedly. Ruthlessly, my punches connected with his jaw, his face, I broke his nose and I tore skin off my left hand before I was restrained. If I meant business I'll sock you with my main hand. And I'm a left-handed guy.

"What the fuck are you doing!" The Captain has single handedly tore me from my attacker. "Get a break, go on 'round back I'm talking with you later. Cool off! Boys get us an ambulance! We got a casualty and we have an injured man!" I look at him with a glare that could have killed somebody, but I knew better and slapped myself mentally. "I'm--I'm sorry, I didn't know what I was doing." I wipe the sweat off my face. Wow, I hadn't shaved in a while. The Captain clicks his tongue before looking at me and nods. I don't know if he's being sympathetic or judging. I didn't care, I'm more concerned about me.

What the fuck am I doing.

The man I attacked had his head lowered to entering squad 2's car. He sneers at me before he's subdued temporarily. He shouts more things at me inside the car but I couldn't hear. A uniformed cop accompanies me to Squad Car 3, away from the heat and the work. "The Captain will be with you shortly, I have to attend to my calls." He salutes me off and jogs to the van. I catch my breath, wipe the blood of my face and got my dress shirt bloodied.

It's quiet over here, also a bit cooler. The heat is dying down. I hear an ambulance and it's two-tone echo in the streets. Perhaps the teenager has a chance at living, and our unarmored officers who were hurt in the duration of this notoriety be treated. I don't need to be treated, I never liked staying behind to get a paramedic touch me anyway. Sigh.

"We've got a casualty.." I repeated from the realms of my memory. The Captain's voice was stern, seemingly steady and commanding. But by being with him professionally for so long now, only his close friends who has had the privilege of scrutiny could only tell that there was palpable quivering in his tone. A casualty, a life lost, would have been more to bemoan if it had been ours. The teenager mustn't have held on to his shotgun encounter to live and tell his grandchildren. Sad. That death will be nailed on us and I'm already seeing the work multiply.

I rest my back on the curve of the passenger seat's door, a deep sigh and I look up to the ominous black midnight sky. I have to get home. Screw the Captain.

"I'm not insane, 'cause the cocktails had water in them. I'm not under any drugs, medicinal or otherwise because I am a healthy man. I'm not drunk, because I'm sober for a week."

Connecting the dots from the beginning I realize it's the brain's voice talking to me through the slightly open window on Squad Car 3's jail seats. Admirable, " You could have casually walked out of this vehicle throughout the mess that's happened. We might just lighten your sentence." I shoot back. I don't move from my position and engage in a faceless conversation."But if I had done that I think I would be in a more worse situation. And really? You can just lift weights off an arrested man?" I remember all the fallacies happening around me, "Nowadays, anything is possible, son."

I hear the van pulling out on the street, now the Riot Squad is boarding their tactical van. Those pigs. Bickering at each other and throwing hard pats on their buddy's backs. A job well done? That's irresponsible to say.

"I saw what they did. And I saw what you did."

"Don't rub it on me, that I didn't do shit for your toadies and restrained my dogs."

"They just followed what I did. We all hate you, It's not my--"

"It's your fault."

Silence. The kind of awkward silence that gnaws on your stomach, like when you first start talking to your girlfriend's dad or something. Now that's an awkward moment anyone can relate to.

"Sorry, I'm not great at talking to air." I sarcastically apologize before moving in to see something physical of him. I do, but all I see is a snarl on the man's lips. The shadowing isn't in my favor today really. I push more, "If you hadn't gone and done that they wouldn't have been fucked. Don't you feel any guilt in that heart of yours? You just sat here didn't you? You just sat and watched and--" , "Don't dictate any of this on me you think I don't care!?" He finally snaps. "If there's anyone with any fault on this it's you! It's you and your boys!" More strain, more movement. But I still can't identify his face from the darkness. "What about our families? Our friends!? I knew those people! I knew them, they were my neighbors, Detective!" , "Detective?" I'm puzzled.

His face emerges from the dark and the ample light gave me enough to identify his face. Ahh... Right I've met him weeks back, over the morgue. Dead sister. A few still shots pop into my head from my memory. The cold interior of the morgue, the chilling feeling of cold flesh. Sobbing and the image of him holding the hand of his deceased sister. Your name, I don't remember. "All you can do is explain! What about people like me who can't just sit still with a few explanations!? We want our justice, we want that lunatic off the streets and into the gas chamber, we want to be treated just and humanely-- you're not doing anything are you!? You're just--" From the moment I realize he's ranting and disrespecting me, a member of the Metro Police... All I hear is just starting to blur. Like he's shouting at me behind thick walls of glass. The movement of his lips are vicious. The glass on the window is beginning to moist. I can't take anymore. "Look shut up!" I bang my palms on the frame of the car door. He stops, as if he was offended or something. He probably is. "I don't give a shit of what you think! You wouldn't probably do better anyway like that last guy who smashed me good with his fucking drink! Oh yeah, don't ask what happened to him, I gave him a broken nose and a bloody fucking face." Our glares connect. Anger.

The scene is packing up. Cars pulling away, I hear the Captain throwing a few orders while walking his way to me. He probably heard my shouting. Squad Car 3's officers are complying to his demands and are making their way here. The tintinnabulation of their badges and the coins in their pockets create a steady rhythm to their jogs on their way here. I hear them nearing. I bend down and level with this man and hiss behind my teeth, "Listen, I'm not done with you. I'll see you again, I'll personally see to it that I get to straighten out the report by talking to you in questioning tomorrow. What's your name?" , He snickers and his glare grows fierce, "It's Hideaki, and I can't wait to diss you again."

**ACT6:**** Tension**

"What the fuck is up with you?" He throws a drink to my chest and I barely catch it. Stopped over at a Ministop to clean myself up and chill beside our cars parked on the tarmac. I really don't want a drinking session with this guy to stop and smell the flowers. "I don't know, but can we just do this tomorrow? My wife is going to kill me I told her I'd be over by 9--" , He sighs, "Yeah this how you operate right? You wanna postpone something because you don't want it so you throw all the reasons in the world. You socked a civillian, damn it." I'm taken back. Right, he's one of the "good" guys in the force. He opens his beer can with a flick of his two fingers and chugs. No sips, real men chug according to the manliest man in the planet. "You're not opening yours? You can give it to me." ,"Well yeah I did tell her I'd quit drinking." He laughs, "So you took up smoking?" I scoff at his smartass comment, "I've been smoking for a long time now, please. I've just been great at hiding." I really don't want to talk with this guy, I'm an introvert for a reason and I've been feeling the vibration on my leg from all the missed calls I'm getting from my wife, and now it's feeling kinda therapeutic.

I throw him the stout he offered me, I dont want to smell like alcohol. He catches it with a hand and places the prespiring can on the roof of his sedan while chugging the last of his beer down. And besides, I was serious about quitting. "Look, I'm going to go ahead now. I was never up for fellowship anyway." He nods, and again, I don't know if he's sympathizing or judging. But I never cared. "Not that I don't have a sense of camaradrie, please you know that—I just wanna go home." He sighs and gives up, "Well alright, but I'm sticking around for my drinks here." I throw him a quick smile before turning my back to enter my car, "Detective, be careful."

I scoff inwardly. What's with that ambiguous warning. I turn to face him and he's already been long staring at me. "You be careful, Captain. Drinking like that and you live neighborhoods away." He doesn't reply, something must've happened at home. I nod my head to excuse myself wordlessly and head into my car. I back up and I still notice him staring, but I dodge eye contact.

Who cares anyway, I need to go home.

I expect to be castrated, or have my bloody white dress shirt be drenched by tears. Or both. Eitherway I'm going to take it easy tonight, and I want her to help.

___

**YAY! Hope you liked it. I was just really bored with their relationship of best friends! AHAHAHAHA. Don't worry they're going to find out things that are both present in them soon. And no Biggs and Wedge are nicknames and they do have real names, but I wont reveal that just yet.**


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